


Mourning

by legilimancer



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legilimancer/pseuds/legilimancer
Summary: Steve works through the grieving process his own way, with a little help from Danny.





	Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between episode 1.02 and 1.03, exploring how Steve deals with the trauma of losing both his father and his best friend in such a short period of time. Danny may not realize it, but he plays a big part helping Steve get through it.

For the past few days Steve felt like he was treading water. In the middle of the Pacific, with waves crashing over his head and the water so cold his body was numb. Just like in BUD/S. Treading, treading, treading, trying to keep his head up high enough to breathe and his mind sharp without the distraction of bone-deep fatigue, cramping muscles, and chattering teeth. The pain of his father’s loss cut deep, made worse by nightmares of the sound of that gunshot coming through his phone. 

It was appropriate, he thought darkly, that he heard his father’s murder over the phone. Their entire relationship since he was fifteen years old had been over the damn phone. Since his father shipped him off to finish high school at the Army and Navy Academy, Steve had not returned to Hawaii except as a naval officer the few times his ship had docked at Pearl Harbour; even then, he had been so filled with resentment that he hadn’t set foot off base to see his father during whatever brief periods of leave he had been granted from the Enterprise. 

He had been able to maintain decent conversations with his father over the phone, but he hadn’t been able to physically face him after the betrayal of his forced exodus from home. On the phone, he could remain the loyal, dutiful son; in person, he was sure, his anger would boil over into heated words he would never be able to take back. Their relationship had mostly been one of relaying information – his grades, his football team’s standing, then his commission and deployments. His father had responded with brief updates on Mary and Aunt Deb, tales of cases and partners and his difficulties restoring the Marquis. Over time the anger and resentment had eased enough that their conversations became friendly, but they still never made it past a surface relationship; Steve could never bring himself to fully trust his father with his worries, his fears, his doubts, his failures. He was happy enough to tell his father about things that were going well. He never told him when he was wounded, when he was shipped out of Afghanistan for rehab to get his leg back in shape after the surgeons dug out the shrapnel buried in his thigh, or when the anniversary of his mother’s death had him mourning not only her but the rest of his family as well. 

The initial distraction of his father’s murder, his funeral, forming the Governor’s task force and tracking down Victor Hesse had given Steve a brief reprieve from the pain that was gnawing away at him now. Freddie. 

His father had not been a real part of his life for a long time. But Freddie had. Freddie had been his friend through Annapolis. They had gone from being wide-eyed kids to officers together; helped each other through exams and qualifications, hook-ups and break-ups with girls, been each other’s shoulder to lean on in times of uncertainty, cheered each other on and shared victory beers whenever they could reasonably come up with an excuse for celebration. They had been commissioned together, served aboard their first ship together. Even when they were deployed apart, they always stayed in touch. When Steve started training himself to pass the Navy SEAL physical screening test, Freddie had declared it his “best idea ever” and started training as well. Amazingly, they had both been in BUD/S class 203, and eventually ended up on Team 5 together. 

They had trained and served together for so long that it was with Freddie’s family Steve spent his holidays the few times they were stateside and on leave at the same time. It was Freddie’s Dad who hugged Steve and told him how proud he was when he earned his trident. It was Freddie’s Mom who sent homemade cookies when he was slogging his way through physical therapy after his purple hearts. And it was Freddie who crawled into a hotel bed with him and held him through shuddering sobs the day he buried half his squad in Arlington following a mission so fucked up he couldn’t sleep for weeks without reliving it. 

Losing his father hurt. But losing Freddie…it was like someone tore open his chest and ripped out his lungs, leaving behind a gaping hole. He didn’t know how to breathe. Didn’t know how his heart kept beating. Didn’t know how to be Steve without Freddie. 

“Fuck,” Steve cursed, glancing down at his watch and immediately picking up the pace. He couldn’t let himself spiral into the whirlpool of guilt, regret, and pain of losing Freddie and his Dad. “Get your shit together, McGarrett.” He forced himself to push down the pain and focus on the run – he had spent years keeping himself in top physical shape and he was damned if he was going to let switching to the reserves be an excuse for him to get soft. 

His boots dug into the sand as he ran, legs pumping furiously, arms pistoning to drive himself forward, core muscles working to help him keep his balance as the dry sand shifted beneath him. Sweat was pouring down his face, stinging his eyes, and soaking into his clothes. It was early and the breeze was cool, but he was in boots and cammies, and had 40 pounds on his back. _The only easy day was yesterday._ He pushed harder. He reached the edge of his property, finishing mile 4 just barely under his 30 minute target. He wanted to collapse into the sand but forced himself into a slow jog along the final stretch of beach before slowing to a brisk walk as he headed up to the house. 

He grinned when he saw Danny leaning on the rail along the lanai, trying to drink from a cup of coffee while the trades blew his tie up into his face. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Danny asked rhetorically. Danny considered himself a fairly athletic guy, in pretty good shape for his age. But this was insane. His partner was certifiable, he was sure of it. He had caught the tail-end of a few of Steve’s workouts whenever he was a little early, and each time he was more convinced that Steve was a freak of nature. 

“Good morning to you too, Danno. Enjoying my coffee?” He heaved the pack off his back and stripped off the long-sleeved shirt, leaving him in just his t-shirt. He had Danny trained by now to come pick him up on the way in to work, and he had gotten into the habit of brewing the coffee and setting out travel mugs before he headed out for his morning exercise. It put his new partner in a better mood if he arrived and found a pot of Kona ready for him. His next mission would be to trick Danny into eating a healthy breakfast, but that was a mission best launched after Danny had been lulled into complacency. 

“Your coffee is excellent. As you very well know. Are you planning to invade Honolulu?” Danny asked, gesturing at Steve’s clothes. “I don’t think the camouflage will help. You want to blend in you should try an aloha shirt.” 

Steve shook his head, sweat flying from his hair, and mopped his face with his shirt. “Very funny. I enjoy being mocked by a man in patent leather loafers. And a tie.” 

“You’re making fun of my shoes? Buddy, you’re jogging in boots when there are perfectly good pairs of running shoes available at any mall.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and then glanced at his watch. “Hey Rambo, we need to be outta here in ten minutes to be on time.” He tried not to think about why he had gotten into the habit of showing up at his partner’s house fifteen minutes early every morning. Somehow his morning routine had begun to include easing into the day with a cup of coffee and teasing banter on the drive into work, and this little ritual had gone a long way to mitigate the loneliness he had been feeling for the past few months. 

“Rambo was Army.” _And a total pussy compared to SEALs,_ Steve thought, cringing a little at the thought of one of Cath’s lectures for even thinking the word “pussy” in a derogatory manner. Since he knew female naval officers who were tougher than most civilian guys, and about half the guys in the Navy, her point was pretty valid. 

“I’ll be back down in five,” Steve promised, ignoring the “jogging” comment as he darted into the house and up the stairs. He stripped and showered with his usual efficiency, was dressed in his standard uniform of cargos and t-shirt and back on the lanai with a glass of coconut water in hand before Danny had even finished his coffee.

Danny stared in disbelief when Steve reappeared. He had only had time for, like, three sips of coffee since Steve went inside. “If you didn’t shower, you are not sitting in my car.”

“I showered!” Steve protested, taking a quick swallow of coconut water to rehydrate. “I’m Navy, Danny. A Navy shower is three minutes.” 

“That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said. And you’ve said a lot of ridiculous things.” Danny trailed after Steve back into the kitchen. Steve downed the rest of the water and filled his own mug with coffee before topping off Danny’s, snapping on the lids and flipping the coffee maker off. The detective seemed to run on coffee, and Steve had been subject to enough Danny Williams rants on the price of a cup of coffee on the island of Oahu that he suspected money was too tight for Danny to indulge in drive-through coffee daily. 

It was easy enough to make sure Danny was fully caffeinated on their way in to work, and he had made sure their office had a good quality coffee maker and a steady supply of beans. There was the added bonus that if Danny didn’t go out to buy coffee, he also wasn’t buying malasadas, which Steve considered a win not only for Danny’s finances but his arteries as well. 

He grabbed his thermos of post-workout shake from the fridge and snatched the keys to the Camaro out of Danny’s hand as he strode out the front door. Danny followed screeching in protest. Easing the car into Honolulu traffic and listening to Danny’s running commentary of complaints about everything from the excessive amount of sun (seriously?) in Hawaii to the dangers of tsunamis and sharks, Steve tried to shake off his dark mood from earlier this morning. Maybe some people would find the ongoing complaints and melodrama annoying, but Steve found it funny, and if Danny was intentionally trying to get a laugh out of the partner he knew was mourning his father, he would probably never admit to it. 

Steve knew, rationally, that with time the pain of Freddie’s absence would ease, and he would be able to bear his guilt and remorse without feeling like he was going to crumple beneath the weight of it. He had suffered enough loss serving his country to _know_ this to be true, even if the ache in his chest was so raw he couldn’t yet _believe_ it. He had buried more friends than most people his age, and was familiar enough with the process of grieving. 

“You do realize, Steven, that in the vast majority of America, roosters are kept only on farms,” Danny was complaining, as if it was Steve’s fault that there was an abundance of chickens and roosters wandering wild in Oahu. “They aren’t milling about the cities, crowing in parking lots and under my window every damn morning before dawn! _Before dawn, Steven._ ” Danny’s indignation and flailing arms surprised a laugh out of him, and his laughter only seemed to egg Danny on. It was early days yet, but as he let Danny’s words flow over him and felt the warm Hawaiian wind whipping past the open window, he felt a little of the burden lift. He took a deep breath past the crushing pain in his chest and smiled. He was pretty sure if Freddie had been sitting in the car with them right now, he’d be smiling too.


End file.
